“World-Weary Grace”
photo credit: Don Charlebois
“…What after all, has maintained the human race on this old globe… if not faith in new possibilities, and courage to advocate them” (Jane Addams, Peace and Bread in Time of War).
A well-heeled girl who admired her father’s activism and public service, Jane Addams dreamed of living among the poor. She grew up to live in the Chicago settlement house for immigrants she founded in 1889, speak up as a globetrotting pacifist during and after the first world war, bake bread in her lifelong commitment to feed the hungry, and humbly accept the Nobel Peace Prize. An inspiration both to child and college philosophy students, Addams never ages as she scrubs pans, opens doors, and creates opportunities.
What, after all, all in all, always, if not faith in new possibilities? Sunbeams pop through dark days. Seeds of potential bear fruit. Behold this quintet: José Andrés. Amelia Anisovych. Ketanji Brown Jackson. Alex Padilla. Cory Booker.
Another bread baker feeds millions through his nonprofit “World Central Kitchen.” For Chef José Andrés, “a humble plate of food sends a message of hope…of love. It’s nourishment, and a show of empathy….” Partnering with local chefs in Ukraine, Romania, Hungary, Poland, Moldova, Slovakia, and Spain, Chef José tracks down hunger and sets up kitchens in train stations, shelters, war zones. In his interview with Ali Velshi, Jane Addams’s descendent says simply “it’s the least we can do.”
Chef Andrés, reposting a March 13 tweet from Kyiv activist Illia Ponomarenko, calls Ukraine’s defense of the homeland “a war with a soundtrack…let’s make sure we can listen to the same music to celebrate peace….” Describing Kyiv as “gray, sad, frosty,” Ponomarenko nevertheless boasts that “we’re having The Pink Floyd by our side. Let’s listen to a song that fits the city’s vibe right now.” Pink Floyd’s “Louder Than Words” resounds, such a fitting accompaniment to Ukrainian “world-weary grace.” Turn up the volume. “More than alive,” pounds “the beat of our hearts.”
photo credit: Amber Capron
Step backstage, Pink Floyd. Amelia Anisovych, a seven-year-old crowded into a Kyiv bomb shelter, calms and uplifts as she sings an impromptu tune. “Let It Go,” indeed. Reaching safety in Poland after fleeing the only home she’s known, Amelia performs the State Anthem of Ukraine at a fundraiser in Lodz. “Aged Dnieper and Black Sea arm in arm rejoice,” as this child sweetens a “song of freedom / loud and clear.”
Leaving Chef Andrés and Amelia to give their gifts, we turn to the United States for courage and beauty.
Brilliant and accomplished, distinguished and self-possessed, direct and graceful, Supreme Court Nominee Katanji Brown Jackson testified before the Senate Judiciary Committee. She endured uncloaked racism, blatant sexism, and historic buffoonery from Republican members of the committee. Like grade school bullies, interrupting and yelling and not allowing her to respond, they lived down to their reputations. But the first Black woman nominated to the Court, Brown Jackson won those long days—her daughter Leila’s beaming face (captured by photographer Sarahbeth Maney) will burn bright in collective memory’s eye. Now a permanent part of this country’s story, I’ve almost memorized the last exchange between Senator Alex Padilla and Brown Jackson. Their unembarrassed shared emotion, his perfect question and her perfect response, and the word “persevere” reverberates with new meaning. “You are my inspiration,” Padilla concludes. Senator Cory Booker’s joy as he steadily holds Brown Jackson’s eyes brightens the room. “You. Are. Here.” “You. Are. Here.” Again, bound by their tender and deep emotions, Booker’s tribute to her unparalleled success rings out like church bells: “I see my ancestors and yours…. Nobody’s taking this away from me…. You are my harbinger of hope.” Fall, tears. Rejoice, hearts.
Two songs, one poem, and on we go. We. Are. Here.
“…We realize that music is perhaps the most potent agent for making the universal appeal…to forget…differences” (Jane Addams, Twenty Years at Hull-House). Among two thousand daily visitors for generations and at times a mix of twenty nationalities, one grateful clarinetist gets his start in the Hull-House Boys Club Band. Benny Goodman and his racially-integrated band warm under “Blue Skies” at Carnegie Hall. “I Got Rhythm” the band bops. Finding our rhythm, in 1938 and 2022, bebop. “Who could ask for anything more?” Bebop.
photo credit: Amber Capron
“The Verge” nears, close by, and we’re edging toward it with poet Annie Lighthart. A moose looks in a window, fearless—a man looks out, transformed. Sure, reason’s okay, but how about instinct and passion? Hasten to the verge, “that place of about-to-open, near where we comprehend.” Let “something marvelous happen to you.”
Hello, verge. Merge us. Marvel us.
Told with McCarty’s characteristic wisdom, marvel, exuberance, and good will, Leaving 1203 is about navigating that way through. The author draws on all available resources—friends and strangers, food and laughter, life lessons learned in the very house she now empties, and, not least, her newly-inherited West Highland terrier, Billy. McCarty simultaneously learns and deftly teaches the fine arts of remembering, letting go, and holding on to what matters most. She not only finds the way through, she shows the way.
the greatest gift an author could give a reader… lessons of a universally philosophical and existential kind… a touching journey… a welcome, upbeat ride
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